


Solution

by narsus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-02
Updated: 2010-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narsus/pseuds/narsus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's solution to the Moriarty situation is entirely uncomplicated.  Post-The Great Game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solution

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss & Steven Moffat and obviously in the genesis of it all to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

It's with Lestrade on his heels that John comes up the stairs one afternoon to find Sherlock sprawled awkwardly in a chair.

"There's a-" Lestrade stops, takes a second to mentally change track before he lets out a sigh.  
John bites the inside of his lip at the sound, glad that he's not the only one who does it.

Sherlock doesn't respond which worries John a little, enough to make him look Sherlock over with a physician's eye. It doesn't look like a comfortable way to sit and since Sherlock's eyes are actually closed John wonders how it can at all be a comfortable way to sleep. Sherlock is slumped in the chair so that he's almost ready to fall off it onto the floor, his feet are propped up on the coffee table, knees bent at an angle that ought to take conscious determination to maintain and his arms hang over the arms of the chair limply so that they do nothing to support him.

"What's he taken?" Lestrade advances into the room sounding gruff.  
"No idea." John confesses, not yet convinced that Sherlock has taken anything and doesn't just sleep as unconventionally as he does everything else.  
"If it's that bloody..." Lestrade rakes a hand through his hair.

There doesn't seem to be much evidence of anything other than slumber to John's eyes. The posture is odd but so are most things about Sherlock. Moving in closer John notes that the middle finger of one hand twitches slightly but not alarmingly. It looks more like a response to REM sleep than anything potentially hazardous. Bending over Sherlock provides no telltale trace of unnatural scent though John gets a good nose full of coffee and some sort of cologne. He may not be as adept at noting suspicious scents but as a doctor he's aware of enough to reassure himself that Sherlock doesn't appear to be doing anything more sinister than sleeping.

"I'll..." Lestrade growls.  
"Who?" John straightens up, positioning himself between Lestrade and Sherlock on instinct.  
"That little bastard. If he thinks he's going to get away with this."  
"Sherlock?"  
"No!" Lestrade comically claps a hand over his mouth before continuing in a quieter voice. "No, that little bastard who sold him... you know, last time."  
"You... go after the dealers who sell to him?"  
"Well... yes." Lestrade looks sheepish.

Lestrade goes after the drug dealers who sell Sherlock his mind-numbing fix, Mycroft hunts down the criminals who think that the way to get Sherlock off their trail is to rough him up a bit. Suddenly it all starts to make sense to John, not that he'd really know how to explain it.

"He's fine." John moves back towards Lestrade.  
"You sure?"  
"If he's not I'll..."  
"You are a doctor." Lestrade concedes.

As something of a concession John moves back towards Sherlock and carefully takes his pulse. It's perfectly normal which suggests that he really is fine, though possibly exhausted.

"Actually, there is something you could do." John begins, as he gently lowers Sherlock's wrist.  
"Okay."  
John shoots a furtive look in Sherlock's direction and picks up his phone from the table as he crosses the room and ushers Lestrade towards the door.  
"John?" Lestrade sounds worried, though he does let himself be guided out of the room and down the stairs.  
"He's been under a lot of stress lately." John begins carefully. "There was that case, cases, you remember."  
Lestrade nods mutely.  
"We need anything you can find out about... James Moriarty. No, don't write it down."  
"But I should-"  
"We don't even know if that's his real name. Don't tell anyone, we don't want to get the real James Moriarty into trouble."  
Lestrade eyes John suspiciously for a minute. "What if he doesn't have a criminal record?"  
John shrugs easily. "Not much we can do about that then. I'm sure Sherlock will come up with something."

Once Lestrade is gone John lingers in the hallway. He scrolls through the speed dial contacts on Sherlock's phone: of course Mycroft is the first one listed and the least often called.

"I have a name for you." John begins when Mycroft picks up.  
"Oh?"  
"James Moriarty. Worked in IT at Bart's."  
"And just what do you want me to do with that, Dr Watson? We can't arrest a man without evidence."  
"Who said anything about arresting him?"  
Mycroft laughs. It's a low, delighted sound.

When John heads back upstairs Sherlock is still slouched in his chair sleeping. John replaces Sherlock's phone on the table and bends over the other man, checking for any changes. There's nothing though as John pauses, studying Sherlock's lax features the other starts to wake up. His lips curve into a faint smile, turning up incrementally more on the left just like Mycroft's.

"Wake up, you can't sleep like that."  
"John." Sherlock's eyes flicker open only after he's spoken.  
John backs up turning away to the kitchen.  
"John." Sherlock's tone holds a demand of sorts but also a little hesitance.  
"Yes?"  
"Did you- was Lestrade here?"  
"Briefly." John smiles. "You were so exhausted you didn't wake up."

"Did you call my brother?" Sherlock calls out when John has started busying himself in the kitchen, trying to find something edible for dinner.  
"Yes."  
"Why?"  
"Friendly chat."  
Sherlock looks as if he's going to say more but then surprisingly doesn't. Instead he starts to look through the takeaway menus on the table.

They're having dinner at a local Italian restaurant when both their phones buzz. John glances at his text and smiles while Sherlock scowls down at his.

"My brother wants me to attend some _event_ this weekend."  
"Oh?"  
"For security purposes."  
"Why don't you go?"  
"As if I'd let him order-" Sherlock stops, staring at John in something approaching confusion.  
"Where is it you're going?" John continues conversationally.  
"Edinburgh."  
"I hear it's nice."

In the end Sherlock complies without much fuss and dutifully heads for Edinburgh for the weekend. Even Mycroft is surprised at his docile compliance and says as much when he arrives to collect John mere hours after Sherlock's left.

"You'll forgive me if I've changed the agenda a little." Mycroft begins when John refuses to be drawn on his surprising persuasive powers.  
John doesn't reply, ostentatiously busy affixing the earpiece that he's been provided with.  
"My, don't you look fetching in that suit." Mycroft's voice is wholly admiring as John adjusts both wire and gun holster a little.  
"Mycroft."  
"Yes, of course." A cough to cover what on any other man's face would read as embarrassment. "My sources tell me that the most effective means of dealing with this little _problem_ will also require removing his... second in command, so to speak."  
"Go on."  
"A man by the name of Sebastian Moran. A colonel in the British army of all things. Would that trouble you?"  
"Not in the slightest. What do we know about this Colonel Moran?"  
"Not much, just that he's a gambler, is or was a crack shot and has managed to disgrace himself to such a degree that they may well give you a medal for..." Mycroft's fingers flutter to explain away the implication.  
"And where are we going this evening then?"  
"My people... found him. They're currently holding him at our destination."  
"Good. He won't be a crack shot without the use of both his arms." John glances out of the window as he says it, causally disinterested.  
"Brutal." Mycroft's tone holds only admiration.

The job, such as it is, doesn't take long and since John doesn't have to bother about the cleanup he's content to relax in the car on the way back, indulgent of Mycroft's flirting. There's more to be done of course but that will come later.

He's in good spirits as he climbs the stairs and for a second even Sherlock's unexpected presence in the flat he's meant to have vacated for the weekend can't dampen his mood. Then reality sinks in and John wonders if he's gone just a little too far.

"If you went dressed like that I'm surprised you didn't have to peel Mycroft off you in the car." Sherlock rests his violin in his lap, gaze sweeping over John's attire.  
Suddenly John feels foolish in his black suit and polished shoes. The costume that suited the role feeling ludicrous under Sherlock's gaze.  
"He's right, it does suit you." Sherlock lifts his violin again and rests the bow against the strings. "I'd wear a different tie though."  
Anything John can say in reply is drowned out by the sound of the violin.

When Lestrade arrives the next day with news of a particularly brutal murder Sherlock doesn't immediately dash across the room towards the door or even enquire about the details. Instead he looks at John as if waiting for something.

"No." John says cheerily. "As you doctor I can't recommend it."  
Only then does Sherlock bother looking at Lestrade. "Can't."  
"What? You just-"  
"My doctor advises against it. Afraid I'm going to have to give this one a miss."  
Lestrade looks at John and then back at Sherlock again. "Fine. Fine." The rest of what he mutters is lost as he simply turns round and makes his way back down the stairs.  
Sherlock's phone buzzes and he picks it up with a look of amusement. "Mycroft wants to know if you have any possible interest in men." He announces even as he sends a response.  
"And what did you just tell him?"  
"That I'd ask you tonight, in bed."  
John laughs. "He'll know that we haven't-"  
Sherlock's answering smirk suggests that producing evidence won't be a problem.


End file.
